


Picture of You

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [22]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, white collar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, any m/m, White Collar AU."FBI Agent Cam Mitchell suspects his CI, former art forger and con artist Evan Lorne, has gone back to his old ways.





	

Cam knocked on the door of Evan’s apartment, because his mama had raised him right, and unlike some people - like Zelenka - he knew it was rude to just barge in. “Lorne?”  
  
There was no response.  
  
True, Evan wasn’t required to be on lockdown at his apartment whenever he wasn’t with Cam on a case, but he was supposed to be easy to find. Cam would have received an alert if Evan had gone outside of his anklet boundaries, right? He checked his phone.  
  
No alerts.  
  
Maybe Evan was in the shower.  
  
Cam had to pause, take a breath, and banish the image of Evan, naked, head tipped back, water sluicing down his skin -  
  
He knocked louder. “Lorne, it’s me, open up.”  
  
And the door swung open.  
  
That wasn’t good.  
  
Cam drew his sidearm and nudged the door open. “This is the FBI.”  
  
But Evan’s apartment was, by all appearances, empty. Something had been going on, though. There were plates and pans piled in the sink, and two wine glasses on the table beside a half-empty bottle of wine.  
  
Cam’s throat closed. A date. Evan had been on a date. There was nothing in his parole conditions that forbade him from dating. Evan was a relentless flirt, with his blue eyes and his dimples, but he rarely followed through. For him, flirting was another tool in the box to get the job done. Cam had been sure that Evan hadn’t seen anyone since he’d escaped from prison and found out that David was long gone. He’d been wrong about Evan before, though.  
  
Cam started to back toward the door, and then Zelenka came wandering out of Evan’s bedroom. Fully dressed. Wearing a painting smock, with paintbrushes in hand.  
  
He paused, expression shifty.  
  
“Suit,” he said flatly.  
  
“Zelenka,” Cam returned. Zelenka did that sometimes, hijacked Evan’s apartment to use for himself. That would explain the uncharacteristic messiness of the kitchen. “You on a date? Didn’t mean to interrupt. If you could just tell me where Evan is -”  
  
Evan hollered, “Zelenka, hurry it up, before it dries! I want to get the color just right.”  
  
Zelenka’s expression turned very hunted, and Cam holstered his weapon. He gestured sharply, and Zelenka put the paintbrushes down on the kitchen counter.  
  
Cam headed for Evan’s bedroom, footsteps perfectly silent, just as he’d learned in his soldiering days.  
  
And then Zelenka yelled, “Evan, Five-0!”  
  
Cam cursed and burst into the bedroom, just in time for Evan to spin his easel and canvas around.  
  
“Step away from the painting,” Cam said.  
  
Evan was pale, dismayed. “It’s not what you think -”  
  
“Step away,” Cam said firmly.  
  
Evan sighed, cast a betrayed look at Zelenka who was hovering behind Cam and faintly buzzing with nervousness. Evan raised his hands in surrender and backed away from the painting. He looked sick with guilt, and Cam’s throat closed. What had Evan done? Was it over? Had Evan finally succumbed to the allure of his old life?  
  
Cam prowled closer to the easel, his heart in his throat, prepared for a forged Monet or Picasso or Rembrandt or -  
  
Not this.  
  
Not a portrait of himself.  
  
Or rather, a portrait of a man who resembled Cam but was far too beautiful to actually be Cam. Because Cam’s weren’t that blue, and his smile wasn’t that bright, and his skin wasn’t that golden, not even in soft light.  
  
The painting wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. There was no background, and the fabric of the man’s shirt was still flat and dull, but the face was vivid, was alive, was -  
  
“You were never supposed to see this,” Evan said quietly. “You were never supposed to know.”

“Know what?” Cam asked, tearing his gaze away from the painting.  
  
The want and longing on Evan’s face was stark for just a second, and then he was just Evan again, handsome and charming and completely opaque. “Doesn’t matter,” Evan said. He tilted his head, smiled that infuriating smile that was half dimples, half blue eyes, and all insolence. “You have trust issues, don’t you?”  
  
_You don’t trust me,_ he meant.  
  
Cam fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “Zelenka, get out.”  
  
“Now Suit, let’s be reasonable,” Zelenka began.  
  
“Out,” Cam growled, and Zelenka scurried for the door with a _Later, Evan!_  
  
Cam fired up his cell phone.  
  
Jonas answered. “Agent Mitchell?”  
  
“Tell Director Landry that I’m accepting his offer.”  
  
“You mean to take over the Cybercrimes team?” Jonas floundered. “But who -?”  
  
“John Sheppard,” Cam said. John had been eyeing the White Collar position for a long time. It would be a straight swap. Same field office.  
  
“Sir -”  
  
“Tell him for me. And don’t disturb me for the next twenty-four hours.” Cam hung up his cell phone, shut it off, and set it aside.  
  
Evan’s gaze was dark, hooded. “What did you do?”  
  
“Accepted a position as leader of a new team.”  
  
Evan swallowed hard. “Why?”  
  
Cam crossed the room in a few strides, looped an arm around Evan’s waist. “So I can do this.” And he tugged Evan into a kiss.

*

  
On Monday morning, Cam arrived at the office and met his new cybercrimes team - Sam Carter, a hacker and mathematician nonpareil, Daniel Jackson, a cryptologist, and Rodney McKay, Sheppard’s old CI. On the other side of the bullpen, Ford and Teyla were looking a little betrayed, but then Evan arrived with their favorite pastries and John’s coffee just the way he liked it, and when Teyla saw the lovebite on Evan’s neck, she made Ford give her fifty dollars.


End file.
